In Search of Uggs
by LisaT
Summary: Laura's tired and cold and retires to Bill's quarters to rest. When he arrives, he tries to help... A/R. obviously!


_This was inspired by the rather wonderful and bonkers but completely practical (so very Laura!) photo of Mary McDonnell from the set of_ Colonial Day, _where she wears a pair of uggs with her presidential suit. _

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_**In Search of Uggs**_

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It wasn't cold, it wasn't _really_ cold. Laura Roslin knew this. _Galactica_'s air conditioning systems were ancient, like the rest of her, but they still more or less functioned. There was no reason for the chill that seemed to penetrate into her very marrow, both body and soul.

She gave quiet sigh of relief as the hatch to Bill's quarters shut behind her and her eyes roved these now familiar surroundings. Rich rugs. The scent of old books. Esoteric pictures and sculptures (_what_ was that elephant wearing?). The comfort of a sofa that yielded and embraced as one sank into it. The chill eased a fraction and she gave a tiny hum as she slipped out of her shoes, closing her eyes at the luxury of getting out of her pinching presidential heels.

She dumped her files and papers on the low table and shivered, rubbing her hands up and down her arms in a futile attempt to warm herself. The irony was that once upon a time Laura Roslin had always considered herself to be warm-blooded, as it were. She'd taken pride in the fact that she didn't seem to feel the cold as much as other people did. Cancer had changed that. Cancer and New Caprica and cancer again. Being warm had become her own personal nirvana, a goal she was always chasing but never quite achieved.

She needed a blanket of some kind, she realised. And a rest. She was due to meet the Admiral for a meeting in less than an hour, but her quorum meeting had finished early for once, and she'd fled _Colonial One_ for _Galactica_. Strange how this military ship was more and more becoming the home she'd never had in her adult life. Laura ran longing fingers over the smooth leather of the sofa and looked for a blanket of some kind – and a smile twitched her lips as she caught sight of something dark and heavy peeking around the hatch through which lay the head.

Bill's dressing gown. After only a moment's hesitation, she padded across the quarters to retrieve it, and gave another hum, louder this time, as Bill's scent wafted to her nostrils from the terrycloth. She glanced at her watch; she had just over half an hour before Bill was due, and exhaustion was dragging at her as much as the relentless cold that seemed to have replaced the blood in her veins. Giggling a little at the thought of the sight she would present when he finally arrived, she curled up on the sofa and snuggled under the dressing gown. Even her toes were wrapped in terrycloth, and the chill lifted a little further. Laura's eyelids drooped, and she drifted into a light doze.

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Admiral Adama tried to repress the grin that wanted to shape his lips when he saw the President's security detail standing outside the entrance to his quarters. He'd known he was due to meet with her, but meetings had been cancelled before, and he – both of them – had long ago learnt that all their arrangements, professional and personal alike, were at the mercy of their jobs and circumstances.

He nodded at the guards, spun the wheel, and stepped into his home, his eyes automatically going to the table where he expected to find Laura Roslin bent over the pile of reports he'd left for her. He frowned when there was no sight of Laura; the frown lifted when he stumbled over her shoes, and he allowed his grin to reform more fully when he turned and saw her curled up on the couch, under something dark that looked familiar. Only her rich hair showed, an auburn waterfall that flowed over the sofa's arm.

Bill went to hunker down in front of her, noting as he did so that her blanket was his dressing gown, and he felt a thrill of pleasure that she had chosen to wrap herself in something that was so intimately, personally _his_. He braced himself against the sofa with one hand, and the other went to stroke the soft red-brown strands that still curled so luxuriously. He used a finger, as if her hair was a piece of old and delicate fabric that would shatter with an unwary touch.

'Laura?' he whispered, not wanting to startle her too badly.

She mumbled and snuggled deeper under his dressing gown, her nose buried in the fluff of the fabric.

He grinned and put a hand on her arm, and gave her a small shake. 'Laura!'

Laura groaned and opened her eyes into slits. 'It's you,' she said, a trace of grumpiness in her tone.

'Did you forget our meeting?' Bill asked patiently as she turned so that she was lying on her back, blinking up at him with bleary eyes.

'Hmmmm. No. No, I didn't forget. I got here early and … I hadn't realised how tired and cold I was until the door, the hatch, shut behind me.' The lower half of her face was still obscured by his dressing gown, but he knew from the way the lines around her eyes deepened that she was smiling. 'I must have fallen asleep.'

'At least one of us gets to be lazy,' he teased as she began to untangle herself from the dressing gown. 'And Laura? Couldn't you have found a blanket?'

A wash of colour crested over her face. 'I did.' She brought the dressing gown up to her face once more and smirked up at him.

'I don't think my dressing gown counts,' he told her drily, hoisting himself to his feet and grimacing as his knees protested.

'Hmm, I suppose you're right, Admiral.' She sighed and stretched. 'Better get back to work.'

Bill didn't miss how she shivered once she put the dressing gown away from her. 'You're still cold,' he pointed out, concerned.

Laura gave him a pained smile. 'You have no idea,' she remarked as she crossed to the table and fished her glasses out of their favoured resting place at the opening of her blouse. She settled them on her nose and looked at him, the president once more. 'Let's get on with it, shall we?'

He frowned as he looked at her. She wasn't a small woman, but seated and in that flimsy shirt … he was struck by how frail she suddenly looked, and the reality of her renewed battle with cancer hit him like a blow to the stomach.

He swallowed. 'Just a moment,' he told her, and went deeper into his quarters, into the part where his rack was. When he returned to Laura, he had a plaid blanket over one arm and he held a pair of boot-like slippers in his hand, gripping them by their tops.

'Here,' he said awkwardly, handing her the slippers. 'They're old and they're gonna be too big for you, but – ' He shrugged and let them drop from his hands when she stared. The rugs muffled the clang with which they hit the deck, but the sound was still loud enough to make both of them start.

Laura gave herself a shake and he watched as she bent to lift the slippers, her gaze remaining fixed on his. She glanced down at them, and back up at him, her eyes sparkling. 'Bill, just … _what _are these?'

He moved behind her to wrap the plaid blanket around her shoulders, and she leaned her head back to look at him, a smirk on her lips. Clearly, she anticipated that the story of his slippers would be an amusing one.

He stepped away from her and took his seat at the other side of the table, a smile on his own face. 'Put them on first,' he ordered.

She smiled. 'Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir. Wouldn't do to disobey the admiral, would it?'

He watched as she pulled the slippers on, and grinned at the look on her face once her feet (and a goodly portion of her lower leg) were encased. 'Better?'

'I think I'm in heaven,' she told him blissfully, her eyes dropping closed. 'You may never get these back.' She opened her eyes again. 'Okay, what's the story?'

Bill chuckled, a chuckle tinged was sadness. 'They're called Uggs,' he explained. 'They were a birthday gift from Zak. For my sixtieth. He said they were appropriate. Old man slippers for the 'old man'."

Laura reached across the table to put her hand on his. 'That was lovely.'

He turned his hand, so that he could close his fingers over hers. 'Yeah. He was a good boy, Zak.' He blinked away the tears that made her waver before him. 'You'd've liked him.'

'I'm sure I would have. Gods know I like your other son, even when I hate him.'

'Heh. Yeah, have to admit Lee provokes that response in me, too.' They shared a grin across the table and he gave her fingers another squeeze before releasing them.

'Back to work, hey?' she prompted gently, her changeable eyes soft behind her glasses.

'Back to work,' he agreed, and they bent over their papers and reports, sinking quickly and easily into their professional routines.

Before she left for the day, however, Laura returned his blanket and his Uggs and surprised him by leaning in for a quick embrace. 'Thanks for today, Bill,' she murmured, pressing a kiss on his cheek.

He dropped the Uggs on the floor and moved his hands to her elbows, holding her in place. 'It was my pleasure,' he said sincerely.

'And this is mine,' she whispered, pulling him down for another kiss, this time on his lips. Startled – if very, very pleased – he drew back, and she smiled up at him. 'Payment, wouldn't you say? A hug for an Ugg?'

He rumbled a laugh and tightened his arms around her, loving the feel of her body pressed against his, and her hair against his cheek.

Someone banged on the hatch, and he sighed. 'I think that's our signal.'

'Yeah.' She stepped back out of his arms, slipped on her shoes, retrieved her jacket, and collected her papers. His eyes followed her as she moved around his rooms.

Someone banged on the hatch again, and they exchanged a glance of rolled eyes.

'Until next time, then,' he said as he began to spin the wheel that would open the hatch.

Her smile was radiant. 'Until next time.'

And she was gone, leaving him with a goofy grin on his face.

-_End._

_So what did you think? In character for pre-Hub S4 A/R? Or just ... fluff? _


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